


Ask Again Later

by Fundead (DragonThistle)



Series: The 8-Ball Series [4]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Oviposition, guess who forgot to post this part over here haha, shit's about to get real mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:25:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonThistle/pseuds/Fundead
Summary: In which things change. Maybe. At least a little bit.





	Ask Again Later

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't new, I just forgot to post it here on ao3. I posted it on tumblr but. Not here. Forgot. It's here now. I haven't written the rest of this fic. I should just finish it off at some point but I haven't had the motivation.

Murdoc’s fingernails are scraping his scalp through his thick hair but 2D could care less. Because the noises Murdoc is making are more than worth it. Murdoc usually has 2D writhing and begging and whimpering but once in a great while, 2D can return the favor.

 2D pulls back as much as he can with Murdoc’s hand fisted in his hair and sucks on the end of the bassist’s dick before taking it in his mouth again. He hums and Murdoc groans, unable to stop himself from pushing deeper into 2D’s mouth. 2D smiles despite the mouthful and tightens his grip on Murdoc’s hips, fingers biting into flesh hard enough to leave marks. Another thing Murdoc would never admit to liking.

 The bassist is straddling him on the bed, one hand on 2D and the other braced against the wall of the Winnebago. His wicked tongue is lolling out of his mouth, breath panting as 2D sucks him off, his hips rocking. 2D scrapes his nails against Murdoc’s skin, drawing out a strangled sound that the bassist would never admit to making. Murdoc is hot, his temperature always on the cusp of being too warm, and sometimes 2D wonders if he has fire in his veins. Or, at the very least, Fireball Whiskey.

 Murdoc grunts and stiffens and 2D sucks in a breath while he can because in the next instant his mouth is fuller and it’s spilling down his throat. He swallows dutifully, licking what he can with his tongue as he pulls back. He remembers gagging and coughing and spitting the first time they’d done this, spunk and spittle and tears smearing down his face, his nose dripping as Murdoc just laughs and calls him a pansy. Well, look at him now, he’s practically an expert.

 “Ya’ missed some, sweetheart.” Murdoc purrs, leaning down to lick 2D’s stubbly jawline with a sneer on his face.

 “Gross, Muds.” 2D wrinkles his nose and then yelps when Murdoc nips at his neck.

 “Says the one who just swallowed most ‘a it.”

 “Yeah, jus’ ‘cause—“ 2D burps and grimaces, “Urhg, tha’ didn’ feel too good. Kinda tasted me dinner again…”

 “Aw, poor lill’ Two Dents, can’t keep ‘is dinner—“

 2D lurches and doubles over, retching and gagging and coughing. Murdoc finds himself with a lapful of sick and an apologetic, sobbing 2D.

 The mood of his Winnebago has been effectively ruined.

 ****

 He’s laying in Murdoc’s glorified excuse for a room in the studio proper, curled on his side with his eyes half closed and one arm draped over his belly. His stomach hurts something fierce and he’s tired and sore beyond reason.

 2D feels terrible about throwing up in the Winnie but he half thinks Murdoc deserves it for doing this to him in the first place. 2D wants to hate the bassist for this, he really does (wants to hate him for a lot of things, if he’s honest). But the more he thinks about having a bunch of little kids running around, the more he likes the idea. He’s always gotten along really well with Noodle and other children, having some of his own doesn’t seem like half a bad idea.

 His stomach roils and he gags, dry heaving into the musty sheets on the mostly unused bed until it settles. Murdoc had cleaned him up, carried him inside (past a passive aggressively concerned Russel), and dumped him into the bed before stalking out again. No doubt to go clean up his precious love shack. 2D has been abandoned, once again. No surprises there. Sometimes he wonders if Murdoc actually gives half a flying fuck about him. Probably not. He’s probably just another fuck hole for the bassist.

 2D curls up into a miserable ball and whimpers as his stomach turns over again. He feels sick and his body aches. He’s never felt more miserable in his entire life, not even when he woke up after having been launched through a car window. That was Murdoc’s fault too.

 A choked hiccup escapes him and his stomach tightens. Oh god, he’s going to be sick again. He’s going to throw up all over Murdoc’s bed _again_ and—

 Oh no, wait, maybe he just has to take a shit.

 The singer sits up shakily, wheezing, feeling more ill than ever before. The mattress tilts underneath him and the floor is a water bed rippling under his bare feet. He’s going to throw up and shit himself at the same time and won’t that be a grade A spectacle for everyone to laugh about later.

 His stomach gurgles and a pathetic whine dribbles from his chapped lips.

 Then the door bangs open—because Murdoc Niccals rarely does anything lightly—and slams shut again behind the bassist. He looks thoroughly disgusted and ready to quit,

 “Well, the Winnie’s gotta air out a’ while so wer stuck in ‘ere ‘till then.” He tosses a set of keys onto the dresser by the door and casts an unamused glance at 2D, “Oi, what’s crawled up yer ass then, Faceache?”

 “M’…don’ feel…” The words are a mumble past the clenching pain in his gut, “Somefin’ don’ f-feel…righ’…Murdoc, I fink I…”

 “C’mon, spit it out, luv, no judgements ‘ere,” The bassist is already peeling off his pants and discarding them carelessly to the floor, “Well, maybe a few judgements but—“

 “I fink my insides is tryin’ t’ become me outsides!” 2D blurts because honest to god that’s what it feels like. He thinks he’s going to shit his guts right out his ass at this rate, “M-Muds, s-somefin—“

 “Oh.” Murdoc says. And then he explodes into a flurry of activity, “Fuck! Ah, get back on the bed, luv, c’mon.” He hefts 2D back onto the mattress proper, leaning him against the headboard and tugging off his boxers.

 “M-Muds?” 2D gasps, arching his back with a grimace, “Wh-what’s goin’ o-on?”

 “‘Member the part ‘bout these bein’ eggs?” 2D pales dramatically and Murdoc gives him a nasty grin, “Thas’ right, Faceache, yer gonna haf ta’ lay ‘em. Oi, oi! don’ pass out on me!” The bassist pats 2D’s face when the singer’s eyes start to roll back, “Yer gonna want ta’ be awake for this…”

 2D’s about to protest but a convulsion has him arching his back, a strangled cry choking in his throat. Murdoc’s saying something but there’s ringing in the singer’s ears and all he can think about is the pressure in his abdomen and the painful stretching going on below. He gasps for air, eyes squeezed shut, tears dripping unashamedly down his face, thin chest heaving as he pushes to get it out, out, out! Out, because it hurts! Out, because he’s tired, he’s so damn tired! Out, because he’s sick of the looks from Russel and the pokes from Noodle. Out, because fuck Murdoc Niccals. Fuck Murdoc Niccals with the rustiest screwdriver on the planet.

 Fuck Murdoc Niccals for purring sour nothings in his ear and patting his thigh and telling him he’s fine and he’s doing a good job.

 Fuck Murdoc Niccals for choosing him.

 Fuck Murdoc Niccals for being who he is.

 Fuck.

 ****

 By the end of it, 2D is exhausted, his eyes drooping closed. He’s too tired to even appreciate the face that he’s tucked into Murdoc’s side. The bassist has an arm around his shoulders, scruffy chin resting on that mop of blue hair. It’s quiet and warm.

 2D’s bleary gaze is fixed on the small pile of black and white shapes wrapped in a blanket at their feet. He can feel Murdoc looking at the too. Something feels charged, like a flipped switch, a fragile tangle of thin wire humming with an electric current. No one wants to touch it.

 2D says, “Those came out of my butt.”

Murdoc barks out a hoarse laugh and that’s answer enough.


End file.
